There Will Be Blood
by EccentrikPirate
Summary: A Supernatural crossover with my fav horror trilogy. There will be blood, brothers,demons, severed limbs, asylums, boomsticks and a chainsaw. Hail to the King, Baby.
1. Cabin in the Woods

Quick note, I'm used to writing from the first person point of view, and I think some of my tenses might be f-ed up in this. If it sucks and is obvious please let me know.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Cabin in the Woods

"I still don't think this is a good idea," the pretty brunette squeaks from the backseat. Her eyes nervously scan the empty forest passing by, hoping—yet dreading—that her fears of those woods are not entirely irrational.

"Ah, c'mon!" one of her friends laughs, "We'll only be in an old abandon cabin in the woods for the weekend, with no cell phone service, one way in and out, and where nobody else in the whole world knows we'll be. What could possibly go wrong?"

Her three companions burst into laughter, "that's not funny, Ryan."

He groans, turning his head to face the secret object of his affection, "Seriously, Samantha, nothing bad is going to happen to us. I promise."

"Yeah, that's nice," Samantha shoves his head forward again, "Keep your eyes on the road please."

Her neighbor in the back giggles, twirling a strand of red hair over and over between her fingers. "Stop being silly, Sammy!" she laughs, "it's the perfect get away, right Brandon?" she coos to her boyfriend in the passenger seat. They giggle to themselves, cracking jokes at Samantha's expense and interlocking fingers in the most disgustingly affectionate way.

Ryan peers into the review mirror just in time to catch Samantha rolling her eyes in revulsion. They stop suddenly, "I thought I told you to keep those things on the road?!" she barks.

"R-right!" the driver stutters, having been caught off guard.

"Not like that matters for very long," Brandon remarks, surfacing from his and the red heads' private tryst.

"What?"

"Yeah, the only way to get to this place is through this old trail. No way a car can fit down there," he shoves a fist into Ryan's arm, "didn't you tell her?" he chuckles.

"No," Samantha answers flatly. Her eyes catch Ryan's in the mirror again. His break away quickly, unable to stand their ground against her dagger stare.

"I-I," he stutters again, "it's not _that_ far of a hike."

"Hike?" she responds flatly. The red head giggles once more.

"The trail is a bit overgrown, but…" she catches him spying into the mirror and he, again, is the first to break away, "it'll be _so_ worth it, Sammy," he pleads, "the cabin looks great from the outside!"

"Outside?" she straightens in her seat, "Ryan...have you ever been _inside_ it?"

She witnesses his gulp via the mirror, "Well…no."

"Shit…" she grumbles.

"But like I said it looks like it's still in great condition! Sure it has a broken window or two but—"

"Oh great, so I'll be setting up my sleeping bag over broken glass?!" Ryan squirms beneath her tone, "thanks, Ryan, this sounds like it will be a lovely weekend!"

The foursome remain, mostly, silent for the rest of their journey. Samantha refused to speak to any them—aside from her occasional remarks of how she believes this trip be the worst idea in the history of mankind—as they hiked the trail to the cabin.

"You can turn around any time you want!" Brandon would retort each time her lament would heighten.

"Seriously, guys!" the brunette finally shouts as the forest surrounding them broke to reveal the ancient cabin, "does nothing about this just feel…" her voice faded as her eyes began to wander. She folded her arms over her chest, a sudden breeze forcing a chill into her bones.

"Feel what, Sammy?" her red haired friend asked in her natural perky tone.

"_Wrong_," Samantha whispered. None of her companions heard her remark. Or if they did they all opted to ignore her, lugging their duffle bags over the steps of the front porch. The wind caused the wooden porch swing bang against the cabin walls with a sickening thud.

"Check it out!" Brandon yelled, punching his friend in the shoulder once more. He raced up the steps to investigate the two parallel holes decorating the front door, "looks a bear tried to get in!" he held up a claw shaped hand, "roar!" he growled to his girlfriend. She appropriately giggled.

"Hey, Samantha?" Ryan was standing on the first step, "y-you coming?"

She nods faintly, but quickly turns her head to follow the breeze as it tickles her cheek. Her gaze is drawn to a small patch of earth just on the left side of the cabin. Leaves piled high cover an oddly shaped lump in the dirt. Samantha hoped it was her eyes merely deceiving her, but she could have sworn she saw a once white cloth peeking out from beneath the leaves. At the head of the mound were what looked like— through Samantha's eyes— to be two lopsided makeshift crosses.

Then she heard the scream, and a thud. Samantha's eyes snap from the dirt to the cabin at once. Inside she heard her friends groaning and yelling and her legs carried her to the threshold before she could think twice.

The red headed girl lay unconscious on the blood stained and blackened wood floor, her boyfriend towering over her in shock. Ryan was already vomiting in the corner. Though a normal reaction would be to puke or scream or faint upon witnessing the carnage on the cabin floor Samantha could not bring herself to do any of these things. She was frozen, her eyes glued and unblinking at the pile of bodies on the floor. If you could call them bodies anymore. They're nothing but a pile of bones and discomposed…something. Rotting amidst the broken glass and scattered objects of the cabin. Holes were blown into the unsteady walls. Plates and mugs lay broken in about as many pieces as the once people mutilated on the ground. The wooden decor was covered in dried, unidentifiable goo. One body still had a dagger protruding from its decaying carcass. And everything, absolutely _everything_ was drenched in blood; disgusting, stinking, dry and cracked black blood.

Finally instinct kicks in and Samantha takes a fragile step backward, only to have her heel crunch against something breakable. Her head jerked downwards as she lifted one shaky leg. Beneath her boot lay the crushed bones of a man's right hand gone bad.

The scream finally escaped her paralyzed throat.

Chapter 2:


	2. Join Us

Chapter 2: Join Us

**27 Years Later**

_Join us…_

There it was. He heard it again; the voices in the wind. The old man cradled his bible to his chest, shivering not from cold.

_Join us…_

His eyes fell upon the harmless cardboard box marked "evidence" that lay beneath his old oak desk. He had tried so hard to keep from peering into that damn box. But the contents inside called to him. Softly at first until, they grew louder and louder with each passing year. Now the calls were unbearable. They destroyed him, ruined his marriage, took his badge…caused him to steal evidence from one of his old cases. The most gruesome of _all_ his old cases.

_Join us…_

He could no longer resist the temptation. For what seemed like the thousandth time he abandoned his bible for the box. This time, however, his nagging urge was not satisfied by simply looking at the objects housed within the cardboard walls.

His fingers, without his mind's approval, gracefully traced the semi charred parchments at the box's bottom, like they had so many times before. His hand did not stop there, but continued to venture across the only other significant item in the box. As he lifted the heavy tape recorder from its container he realized this was the object he had no desire to further investigate. The old man wished he still possessed enough will power to restrain his curiosity. His one vice, curiosity, was now slowly killing the old cat.

As he dragged the power cord to the nearest outlet he began to wonder if this is what happened that weekend, in the cabin where the contents of the box had been found. Was it the same chilling call of the wind that had driven a young man to brutally murder his friends, his sister and a group of complete strangers? The images of those deposing corpses haven't allowed him, a cop, a decent night's sleep in twenty seven years. Not to mention the countless scenarios he had dreamed—nightmared—up to explain the one body that was never found. Yet they had found that young man, a college student, functioning without remorse when he was arrested. The arrest added another murder to his resume; an elderly woman blow to bits with a shotgun inside the local S-Mart store where he was employed. It didn't take long for the authorities to connect the two crimes. The old man had always wondered how that _boy_ could have done such horrible things to so many people. What was it that he said? Demons did it? Demons in the woods "took" his friends?

He pressed play.

"…the first few pages warn that these enduring creatures may lie dormant but are never truly dead…" the professor's voice floated out from the recorder for the first time in nearly three decades. With it the old man's first sympathetic thought for the media dubbed "Cabin Fever Killer" formed: _perhaps he didn't have a choice, either…_

* * *

Betsy Ellen York was washing her dishes when she heard the scream emanating from her next door neighbor's home. The noise startled her so she nearly broken a plate over her toe. She peered out the window over her kitchen sink carefully, looking for any sign of danger next door. Betsy didn't know her neighbor very well. The old hermit kept to himself mostly; keeping his doors always locked and the curtains drawn over every window. So that's what she noticed first—after the scream and glass scattering sound—was the broken window with the curtains billowing against the wind. Then she heard the bone crushing thud below where the retired cop hit the pavement.


	3. What The Fuck Was That?

Chapter 3: What The Fuck Was That?

"So a retired cop in Michigan takes a nose dive from his second story window? Remind me again why we think this is _our_ type of case?" Dean Winchester yawned, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. For a moment the yellow lines sprawled on the pavement before him doubled but quickly replaced themselves again. It was far too early to be driving.

"Uh," his baby brother started, fumbling for the right answer, "according to a local reporter's inside man on the force this guy—former Detective Ward— was found with some stolen evidence from his detective days in his home…"

"So he gets a little nostalgic and decides to off himself?"

"A particularly gruesome case," Sam continued, ignoring his brother's remark, "from eighty-one involving a guy dubbed as the Cabin Fever Killer…"

"Catchy,"

The youngest Winchester brother's tone slowed, "who claimed all his companions, including his sister and girlfriend, were possessed by evil demons that tried to kill him," Dean's eyebrow popped, a silent symbol of his peeked interest, "the murders took place in this old cabin—hence the nickname—that belonged to some archeological professor who disappeared not long before the incident. Uhh, it seems the professor's colleagues at the time thought his was on to something about discovering some lost ancient Sumerian text, um I couldn't find much else out about the text, aside from the supposed translations recorded before the professor's disappearance found in the cabin. This was what the old guy had stolen and according to the papers, was playing at the time of…_impact_. Of course there's nothing to be found about what's actually on the recording—"

"Of course not," Dean tore a large mouthful out of his donut.

"And since the suicide it seems all the old guy's neighbors have been showing up in the papers dead too," his brother swallowed and immediately chops down for another piece, "one killed in a home improvement accident involving a buzz saw," Dean grimaced, "another hit by a car and a third…" Sam paused to draw a breath, "and third a little girl drowned in her kiddy pool."

"So what, we think this Somalia—"

"Sumerian,"

"Text translation was _really_ on that tape and caused the cop to kill himself _and_ all these other people to die?" pastry bits crumbled off his lips, his voice skeptic.

"Well the killer kept claiming that's what made the demons take his friends,"

"So a demon's behind this?"

Sam sighed, rubbing his temples, "apparently he also claimed to have traveled back to the middle ages with an Oldsmobile and a…boomstick?" he squinted, making sure he had read that last part correctly, "to fight the Armies of the Dead'."

His brother replied with a groan, "What, was this Cabin Fever guy and his buddies actually possessed by demons or is he just nutty and it's all just some cosmic coincidence?"

The younger shrugged, "we could always ask him."

"Beg your pardon, Sammy?"

"The guy's still alive," Sam rummaged in his seat through some more paperwork, "Uuhh…Ashley J. Williams was sentenced to life at Sunny Meadows Psychiatric Hospital for the Criminally Insane just outside Detroit and is still kickin'."

"Sunny Meadows?" Dean shifted the Impala into park. Again his brother's response was a shrug. The eldest sighed, "okay we go take a look at this guy later," he glanced into the car's mirror to adjust his black tie and brush away a few unsightly crumbs, "right now we got work to do."

* * *

Betsy Ellen York finally made it to her front door after the third ring of the bell. Her eldest daughter was already waiting there silent and frozen on the welcome mat. Betsy rubbed the crumpled tissue in her hand beneath her reddened eyes.

"Theresa, sweetheart, open the door," she choked, "please."

The little girl obeyed, though failed to both either create sound or blink.

"Mornin'," a man dressed in a black suit and tie greeted the girl cheerfully (though blinking in surprise upon seeing the girl at first). He bent down carefully to speak at the child's level, "My name's Detective Stoker and this is my partner Detective Bram," he nodded to the slightly younger man beside him, "Is your Mommy or Daddy home?"

The child made no attempt to move, causing the "Detective" to suck in a lung full of air and impatience.

"I'm right here," Mrs. York said softly as she stepped from the safety of the shadows in her home. She ushered her daughter behind her, muttering requests for the girl to go upstairs to her room. The woman then turned to face the Detectives, smiling pleasantly on her doorstep. She balled the worn tissue tighter into her fist.

"Can I help you?" Betsy's voice was dry as she spoke.

"Yes M'am," the second officer began, "I was wondering you could just answer a few questions for us about your neighbor, Mr. Ward?"

Her breath caught in her lungs. She cleared her throat, a gesture now starting to become a habit, to keep her mind off the tightening sensation in her chest, "I've already talked to the other Officer's about this… _weeks_ ago," and frankly she just didn't want to hear another damn thing about that old hermit anymore.

The Detective's faces fell, but only for a moment. They exchanged a brief glance, almost like they were expecting that to be her answer all along. "I'm sorry M'am," the same officer continued, "You see we're just investigating new leads…"

"It was a suicide," she spat.

"We know," the first took control again, "but we understand you were a witness and just want to ask you a few more questions about what you saw that night." He patted his coat pocket for a moment in a fruitless search before snapping his fingers at his partner who then extracted both a pen and pad from his coat pocket.

She had had it. Betsy didn't wish to answer any of these questions anymore, "I can tell you what I _didn't_ see that night!" she snapped at them. She realized her body was now shaking as the young detectives stared at her with baffled expressions, "I _didn't_ see my daughter, Sarah," he voice broke, the crumpled tissue shot over her lips for a moment, "My Sarah," she exhaled, "go out back to play in that stupid little pool Hal got the girls over the summer as I was calling 911! I _didn't_ see my three year old daughter slip and _drown_ in that piece of shit as I was on hold with _your_ department!" the boys flinched under her tone of increasing aggravation, "I _didn't_ hear Theresa banging on the back door for mommy to come and help her baby sister!"

What was left of the poor woman's composure finally shattered. Her body shivered and shoulders shook as throaty sobs escaped her mouth. Betsy's knees even began to buckle under the weight of her own misery. Her finger nails clawed into the door frame attempting to keep her body afloat.

"I-I'm very sorry for your loss," the youngest male stuttered. He instinctively outstretched a hand to try and catch the falling woman but was swatted away by her own.

"Leave!" she hissed, stabbing a trembling finger in their direction, "Just leave!"

* * *

The Winchester brothers did not wait for her to demand their departure a third time, "What the fuck was that, Sammy?!" Dean growled, slamming the door of the Impala.

"I thought that was supposed to be the Campbell residence!" his brother scrabbled through his pile of paperwork, "I must have gotten the addresses mixed up—"

"Yeah, I'll say!"

"The Yorks lived there," Sam swallowed a mouthful of air, "their daughter was the one who drowned the same night as Ward."

"Shit," the eldest mumbled, banging a hand against the steering wheel. Sam continued to shift through his papers. Though only until he noticed the lack of engine roar and peeked up at his sibling. Dean could feel the question in his brother's eyes.

"Did you see that little girl? The one who answered the door?"

"Yeeaaahh," he paused for a breath, "what about her?"

"Oh, she didn't look creepy to you?"

"Dean she just lost her sister…" Sam didn't need to say anything more. Both brothers knew the feeling of losing flesh and blood well.

"There's still something not right about her," Dean huffed, finally turning his eye and bringing the car's engine to life.


	4. Housewares Employee

Chapter 4: Housewares Employee

It was a cold night, and a dark night. The young, dark haired man offered his jacket to the girl beside him. He offered it _nervously_ of course, this being the couple's first—

Okay, hold up, can we just stop all this impersonal bullshit? This is _my_ story and I'm gonna be the one telling it from now on, got that? Good. Anyhow, name's Ash, Housewares.

Oh, and that little dork you just say offer his coat to the pretty young thing beside him (despite his own shivering) was me. Yeah, yeah I know, who goes to a drive-in movie in late October for their first date in a convertible? Well bingo, that would be. The convertible? My dad's. Seemed like a good idea at the time. I really wanted to impress this girl.

And apparently, despite the near freezing weather and the decreasing cool factor of the drive-in theater I was. This girl was actually in to me, and she wasn't like all the other girls I _occasionally _ogled at at work. This one was special—and no blue light special either—I mean _real_ special. This girl was Linda, check-out register number three at your local S-mart. Shop smart, shop S-mart.

"Y-you want some more popcorn, or something?" I blurted; probably because she peeked over at me when my eyes happened to be very far from the screen and several inches below her neck.

"No, I'm fine, Ash," she said warmly. Okay, so either she didn't notice that or she didn't mind.

Suddenly, without really thinking I guess, I decided to pull that ever so clever yawning trick. You know the one, where the guy goes to stretch his arms cause he's yawning but it's really a ploy to put 'em down around your shoulders move? Yeah, real smooth Ash-annova.

Linda doesn't seem to mind that one either. Maybe you should try out that new line you've been working on by the end of the night, Don Ash. How did that go again? Gimme some sugar?. Please.

Linda started giggling. Crap, did I say that out loud? Should I play it off like I just wanted another candy bar? Think, Ash, think!

She keeps on laughing. Maybe something funny happened in the movie and I should play along. So I do. Only a slight chuckle, of course. A real man doesn't laugh at the same stuff chicks do. I smile at her as I do this but she doesn't seem to notice. Instead she grabs my hand and twines her fingers between mine as she giggles. Man, her hands are cold. Wish I had some gloves to offer her too.

"Hey, you want some hot chocolate?" I did offer. Apparently this question was extremely funny as well because Linda was roaring with laughter. She curled up, her body trembling with giggles and her blonde hair fell to cover her face. She squeezed tighter around my hand.

"Ow," I said instinctively and reflexively tried to pull away. She didn't let me. Linda gripped my fingers tighter and tighter as her cackles heightened in pinch. Now I was worried.

"Linda?" she shook with laughter, "Linda?" my free hand moved to brush the hair away from her cheek but her own neck beat me to it. It snapped back to reveal the face of the giggling demon beside me.

Red lips, curly hair, long sharp finger nails with rosy cheeks and black lashes painted right on her face. Not to mention those ghostly white eyes. Yep, she's a demon alright, and she found my attempt to squirm free of her grasp hysterical. Sure a scream formed in my throat but that's where it stopped too. I was paralyzed. And my eyes… well I couldn't keep them off her. She was damn beautiful too…or…used to be.

"_We're gonna get you,"_ the thing inside my girlfriend sang in its baby doll voice, "_we're gonna get you! Ah hahahaha hehehehehe hahaha!" _her claws dug deep into my flesh. No matter how hard I pulled she just wouldn't let go. Finally I decided to open the car door and just give one big yank.

POP

My face collided with dirt as my body was yanked free of Linda's clutches. I opened my eyes to stare back up at Linda, my face now covered with something wet and sticky. Like me, I saw she was completely drenched in red, from her face to the bottom of her white nightgown. My twitching hand was still firmly secured in her own with interlocking fingers. Her giggling never ceased as my blood—spewing from my severed wrist—showered us both.

"LINDA!" I shouted, rocketing up from my nap on Lady Doc's couch.

"I'd appreciate it, Mr. Williams, if you didn't fall asleep during our sessions," that bombshell doctor with nice stems said this…what's adjective, oh yeah, _acidly_. She doesn't like me very much. Which blows cause she's the best lookin' thing on two legs I've seen in the past twenty some years.

"Sorry, baby, I just find straightjackets super comfy these days, that's all," damn, if looks could kill.

"Mr. Williams," she sighed, gathering up her things, I watched her long red hair slide over her shoulders, "Until you decide to talk seriously about what you did I'd like it if you stopped requesting to see me."

What? I don't care if she refuses to see me without a straightjacket between us (though I would like to let these people know I am _not_ Hannibal Lecter) I'm not gonna pass up the company of the potentially only relatively normal human being in this joint. Even if she thinks I'm a crazy psycho path.

You know sometimes I almost believe her—them—when they tell me over and over again why I'm kept in a whitewashed room with one plastic wall (to keep an eye on me). "You killed your friends, Ash. There's no such thing as evil spirits or demons. You killed them in cold blood." And just for second I think I agree with them, after all, aren't I getting too old to still be holding on to that excuse?

Then I have one of those dreams. Those dreams about Linda, my hand, the cabin, Cheryl, Sheila, and that damned book. It _was_ all real. Every horrifying moment of it and I've got the scars to prove it.

"Orderly," The Doc instructs the boy nurse to free her from my cell without another word to me.

"Okay, so same time next week?" I shout after her. I got no response.

So I whistled at the boy-nurse after he locks me up again, "hey, you!" what's his name, Ted? "Ted! Teddy! You gonna let me out of this thing or what?" I figured out a long time ago that shaking doesn't do much with these nice white coats, "Hey, where you goin'!?"

And where are you going? Don't want to talk to crazy ole Ash no more? Okay fine, I get it. Just don't come cryin' to me if you get possessed by evil Kandarian demons.

* * *

Betsy Ellen York trudged her way up the stairs. It was late and she had been crying. Almost anything made her cry these days. Passing by Sarah's daycare center, finding a long since forgotten toy while cleaning under the couch cushions, or even watching the neighbors interact with their own children, caused Betsy to realize she'd never see her daughter graduate high school, get a promotion or married or have children of her own. Tonight the tears come after she tucked Theresa into bed. The girls used to share a bedroom. Betsy could tell her daughter had changed since Sarah's death and though she feared it, she knew Theresa would never again be the same smiling child she once was. But of course, neither would Sarah.

Betsy hardly noticed the girls' door ajar as she mindless dragged her feet through the hall. The woman began to notice how her body no longer moved with purpose lately. She pressed a trembling hand against the wood door of her bedroom in a daze. The appendage lingered there for moment, as it no longer had the strength for even the simplest tasks. Betsy sympathized with the hand. She knew the feeling.

"Hal…" she whispered for her husband to come to her rescue, seeing as how her body would no longer obey the muscle memory that had been carrying it for that past week. Her only response was a faint gurgling noise from beyond the threshold. "Hal?" Betsy called again, this time her voice more audible. The gurgling replied to her once more.

"Hal!" Betsy shoved open the door using her shoulder (no other body part seemed to have enough force). She screamed the moment she stumbled into the bedroom, an action she previously thought she was incapable of doing in her state. Hal's bloody, near lifeless body, however, cured his wife of her fatigue.

He lay motionless atop the bed. White sheets were now stained red with his blood oozing from the cavity in his chest. The crimson liquid bubbled in his mouth, flowing out from his flooded lungs. His clothing was torn to shreds. Claw marks decorated Hal's legs and arms. Some gashes went deep enough to reveal white bone. Every few seconds a limb would twitch, but of course activity of any sort no longer occurred in the dead man's brain.

"HAL!" Betsy shrieked at her husband. Panic nailed her feet in place and she could do nothing but watch the last bits of life flicker and fade from Hal's irises, "HAL!" behind Betsy the glass window overlooking the back yard shattered, forcing the woman t her knees. The crash of the glass, combined with the gusting wind that came rushing into the house roared in Betsy's ears. She threw her arms over her face to protect it from the falling shards. The wind blasted against her back. The typhoon force of it ripped the curtains from their rods and wretched the rubber band free from Betsy's hair. The gust soared across the room, finally ceasing as it collided with Hal's body.

Immediately the dead man shot up from his soaked sheets. The unseen force in the wind had reanimated his lifeless body, turning the poor man's eyes as pale as the bone that peeked out from beneath torn flesh.

"_JOIN US!" _ A monster's voice growled from deep inside the man's throat. Betsy sobbed in terror as her husband's dead body lifted itself from the mattress in quick yet rigid movements, "_JOIN US!_" the ugly—inhuman—voice bellowed, blood spewing from its already rotting lips.

Finally the adrenaline building in Betsy's system kicked in. She sprinted from the room and into the hall before her mind even had a chance register the movement. She didn't get very far.

Standing in hall was the only daughter Betsy Ellen York had left. The child's face was ashen. Purple veins could be clearly seen beneath the girl's translucent skin. Her lips were blue, her hair matted and gray. Theresa's eyes too were distorted. Her irises no longer existed, replaced by the same milky white as her father's. In the girl's hand was a bloodied carving knife she found easily in the kitchen. The woman froze in her tracks, suddenly unsure if she had any daughters left.

"_Join us, Mommy!"_ Theresa growled with her arms outstretched.

"No…" Betsy whispered; tears evident in her voice and now staining her cheeks, "No...You're not… you're not my daughter!" the mother took a giant step back.

"_Oh yes I am, Mommy_!" the beast cackled in a voice no mother could love, "_It's me Theresa! And I just want to play, Mommy! Like they I played with Daddy! And little Sarah_!" It was too low, too cracked, too echoed, too _evil_ to be Theresa's. "_Now JOIN US_!" it roared.

"No!" Betsy screamed. The thing charged her with its worn knife. She managed to duck away into the staircase, though was not able to maintain her balance and she tumbled down the first few steps. A heavy mass leaped onto the former mother of two's back, pinning her down.

"_WE SHALL SWALLOW YOUR SOUL!"_ the thing inside her husband screeched.

"No!" Betsy wriggled against the thing's weight, "No!" she sobbed uselessly. No one was coming for her…save for the two monsters already trapping her in her own home.

The beast inside the little girl cackled endlessly, "_I love you, Mommy_!" it mocked, "_Now jjjOOOOoooiiIIIIiiinnnn uuussss!"_ it sang wildly as it plunged the knife into her mother's spine. Betsy Ellen York shrieked and screamed for help to no avail as the no longer breathing bodies of her husband and child tore her body into infinite shreds. Eventually the screaming stopped when life did, but that did not halt the ravenous demons. The only pieces of Betsy Ellen York that the neighbors, or the police or the coroner would ever find would be the broken and battered partial skeleton abandoned on the stairs.


	5. Shop Smart Shop SMart

Chapter 5: Shop Smart. Shop S-Mart

"Doctor Tilly?" the receptionist called to the red haired doctor as she passed by.

"Yes?" she answered. The girl behind the glass partitioned desk pointed behind the taller woman with her pen.

"You have some visitors," the Doctor was shocked. She'd been at Sunny Meadows for five years, and none ever came to visit either her or her patients. Well, not counting their lawyers, but those dogs always notified the good doctor _far_ too many times before their arrivals.

"Huh," was all the doctor uttered. The two men stood in the otherwise empty, chair filled waiting room. Each wore a black suit and tie identical to the other. Very Blues Brothers, she thought. Honestly, each of them were a lot better looking than either Dan Akyroyd or John Belushi. The "suits" looked awfully young too. Dr. Tilly straightened her pencil skirt and tucked a free lock of hair behind her ear while the boys entertained their bored selves with the scenery. Needless to so the view wasn't very entertaining. She inhaled deep, applied a glossy smile, and allowed her heels to click the entire length of her stroll.

"Hi," she greeted the boys pleasantly, extending her hand. Both appeared to be taken aback by this gesture, "I'm Dr. Renee Tilly," she elaborated, "How can I help you?"

"Oh, well, Dr. Tilly," the short haired one took the lead, shaking the doctor's hand first. His initial reaction of stun subsided as he spoke, "I'm sure there's plenty of things you can help us with," he cocked a crooked smile. Renee smirked in reply, though biting her lip as she did.

"Ahem," the second one cleared his throat.

"Oh, right, my name is Detective Meyers and this is my partner Detective Curtis from Detroit," the first introduced them both. The officers quickly flashed their badges before the doctor's eyes, making her dizzy. Uh oh, conversations that started like this never ended on a high note, "we'd like to speak with one of your patients," and this one was losing altitude fast.

"Which?" she asked sweetly, the same false smile still plastered to her lips.

"An Ashley J. Williams—"

"No," Dr. Tilly dropped the friendly façade at once. Both men were stunned into silence at Renee's sudden twist. Her demeanor iced the air between the trio and the doctor's cold blue eyes turned piercing.

"Beg your pardon?" Meyers asked, agitation laced his voice.

"_My_ patient, Mr. Williams, is in no condition to speak to anyone," the woman answered professionally.

"M'am," the second officer began. Dr. Tilly's gaze snapped to Detective Curtis, stabbing him with her deep blues, "_Dr_. Tilly, we're here to talk to your patient concerning a Detective Ward."

Meyers chimed in, "Perhaps you've heard of his…"

"Passing?" the doctor finished, "I believe I read about that in the papers. Tragic. He was on Williams' case was he not?"

"Yyyes," the detectives nodded.

"We'd actually like to ask Mr. Williams some questions about some of the…" Curtis searched for the proper word, "circumstances of the detective's death."

"I read it was suicide," Renee managed to startle the boys yet again.

"Well," Meyers smirked, "aren't you well informed."

"I try," Dr. Tilly sighed with a smirk of her own.

"Dr. Tilly," the softer voice of the second detective addressed, "Detective Ward had been hording evidence from your patient's case in his home for years. One of the things he had stolen was a tape recording we have reason to believe he listened to just moments before his death," Curtis's eyes pleaded with the doctor. For a moment Renee almost thought her will would buckle beneath his sweet features.

"And it would just be a big ole help if we could talk to the only other person left alive who knew what was on that tape," his partner snapped their concluding statement. Dr. Tilly's defenses tightened.

"Well Detectives, shouldn't that tape be _back_ in your possession, now?" Renee spoke in her sugar coated tone, "Why don't you just go ahead and listen to it yourselves?"

The boys pause briefly, each remembering how not well their conversation with Lieutenant Bixler went earlier that morning.

* * *

"Listen, Agents Carpenter and King," he huffed, his overweight belly bouncing as he did so, "I don't know who it is that's been running their mouth to the press—or where you've been getting your information from for that matter—but Detective Ward's tragic passing had nothing to do with the Cabin Fever case!"

"So one of your most respected former detectives kills himself after listening to a tape found at the scene of one of Michigan's most gruesome murders and you think one has absolutely nothing to do with the other?" Dean Winchester nearly laughed at the Lieutenant's naivety.

"I told you we don't know for sure Ward was listening to that thing before he died!"

"Right, so the stopped tape recorder was just a coincidence?"

"What the hell is the FBI doing investigating a suicide like this, anyhow?" The heavy man questioned his frustration with the suits before him evident.

"The truth is sir," Sam always knew when to throw politeness into the mix, "What we're really interested in is the tape. Is there any chance, _any_ what so ever we can have a chance to listen to that tape?"

"Why?" was Bixler's initial bark. Sam sighed.

"That's on a need to know basis," Dean interrupted, "and quite frankly, Bixy, you don't need to know."

"Humph," the Lieutenant's massive stomach shook, "well you can't," his voice turned grave.

"Ex-_cuse _me?"

"We had a break in last night," Dean rubbed a hand over his chin; Sam sighed once more and laced his fingers through his hair. Nobody needed to be psychic to foresee what Bixler was about to tell them next, "In our evidence locker. Guess what was stolen?"

"Shit…" the eldest Winchester brother mumbled.

The less than helpful Lieutenant snarled, "Good luck listening to those tapes now," a cynical chuckled then escaped the man, "Fuck, maybe if you had gotten here sooner to pick up those tapes one of my guys would home with his wife and kids right now. Instead he's down at the morgue getting a butcher knife pulled out of 'em."

"What else did they take?" Sam inquired.

"Fucking, everything in that damned box…_Sir_,"

"We'll be going now," the youngest immediately replied, "thank you." The brothers turned to leave, annoyed and empty handed.

"Oh, and Tennessee," Lieutenant Bixler sneered.

"What?" Dean snapped.

"Michigan's most gruesome murders actually happened in Tennessee. Williams was just arrested for shooting the shit out a little old lady on a shopping spree in a Michigan S-mart."

* * *

"Ahem," Detective Meyers cleared his throat, "let's just say that complications arose and the tape is no longer in our procession."

"Oohhh," Dr. Tilly sighed, "Well it that case," her voice lightened with false hope, "no!"

Renee turned smartly on her heels and prepared to leave these aggravating junior investigators behind. She got no farther than three steps before she felt the pull on her sleeve.

"Listen lady," Meyers hissed. She swatted his hand off the cuff of her shirt sleeve, mouth agape. That amount of contact was far too inappropriate and unprofessional, "I've had it up to here with people blowing us off—"

"What my partner is trying to _ask_," Curtis stepped in, "is that—"

"NO!" the woman doctor finally shouted, her voice firm and infallible.

"What is so awful about this guy that you won't let us see him?" Meyers sighed.

Renee blew that pesky stray hair out of its tangle in her eyelashes. She bolted her feet to the floor and strengthened her stance by placing both hands upon her hips, "Listen officers," despite her growing anger the doctor still managed to speak with that same deliberate sweetness, "I've seen plenty of…_confused…_" a fine euphemism for insane, "men—and women for that matter—get dragged through here claiming that the CIA, aliens, Hamlet's father and the ghost of Elvis Presley told them to do it. Each and every single one of their minds and spirits were splintered and fragmented so much that they couldn't even tie their shoes properly by their end let along carry on any sort of normal human interaction!" Dr. Tilly hadn't noticed the rise in her voice and the increasing depth of her breathing until after her speech. The young detectives eyed her curiously.

"Are, you saying you don't think Williams is crazy?" Meyers asked her in disbelief.

"Oh, no he's nine kinds of crazy," her reply prompted the raise of an eyebrow, "but there is just something else about him," she leaned in closer compensate for her lowered voice, "something just…_wrong_, he's one—" Renee bit her lip. She became a doctor to be able to understand and cure people, and she almost admitted her lack of understanding for Ash Williams in every way possible, "and I don't think you'll be able to get any information worth your while out of him. Besides I think he'll say anything to avoid the death penalty."

"Oh this place seems like paradise compared to that,"

Renee smiled, "we do our best."

"Please, Doctor," Curtis spoke, "we're very much aware of how unreliable this will probably turn out to be, but we still need to at least try."

Dr. Tilly growled to herself. She was no match for his innocent plea. Damn him. Damn all men.

"I can't believe I'm agreeing to this," she exhaled.

"Well I'm gad you've finally decided to see things our way," the other officer chirped, "otherwise I think we would have been forced to arrest you for interfering with our investigation."

Renee's only reply to this was the roll of her eyes.

* * *

Oh, well, look whose back? Did you miss me?

"Mr. Williams!" Lady Doc's sharp voice barked behind the plastic. Well, apparently you're not the only one.

"Afternoon, Doctor!" I greeted her pleasantly as Teddy unlocked my cell, "is it that time already?"

From where I sat, Lady Doc was not alone behind that clear plastic. Two fellas in black suits stood dutifully behind her. While I was staring those two guys down I heard the ruffling of cloth. In the threshold Doc was holding up a familiar white coat. She doesn't normally offer me one of these things herself. She has Ted—or another one of her man servants—do it.

"C'mon, Doc, don't we know each other better than this by now?" I stood from my rickety metal cot, showing my empty hand and stub as a sign of good faith, "must we _always_ use protection?"

Lady Doc didn't laugh, but one of the goons behind her sure did. Though he stifled the chuckle the moment her razor pupils cornered him.

"It's alright," the second assured the beast, "that won't be necessary, I don't think."

In a sigh of defeat—a gesture I have never before bore witness to with this woman—she stepped aside and allowed the two to pass.

"Who are these guys?" I questioned, retaking that seat on my white sheeted cot.

"Mr. Williams these are detectives Meyers and Curtis from Detroit," my Doc answered for them, "they'd like to ask you a few questions," she watched them for a moment as they filed into the room, all four hands buried into black pockets. And I likewise watched them watch me. I could see them drinking in my appearance, ranking me. No doubt they caught my singularly hand, permanently scarred lip and chin, the strips of gray growing in my scalp and my slightly out of shape physique. "I'll leave you three alone," never! She would never do that, she doesn't trust me enough. But she truly departs us, leaving Ted to stand guard at my door.

Meyers and Curtis wait until they can no longer hear the clicks of her heels against the linoleum to speak. "Ashley, is it?" the first speaks.

"Ash, actually," the two exchanged a queer glance. Nooo, I don't mean that kind of queer. Strange! "What's this all about?" I asked just as the detective opened his mouth once more, "I couldn't possibly have done anything else. My alibi's solid."

"Do you remember a Detective Ward?" the second said. How could I forget, the guy wanted me to fry.

"Yeah,"

"He's dead," the first snaps. Boy can these guys tag team.

"Oh, well, my condolences to the family, though I doubt they'd wanna hear it from me,"

"Suicide," he continued, "jumped out a window, ate pavement," ouch, "stole evidence."

I hold the stomp to my ear. If I still had a hand there I suppose the gesture would have looked more appropriate. You'd think I'd be used to it being gone by now, even if I was a righty. "Run that last part by me again?"

"Detective Ward had kept stolen evidence from your case in his home," the second, the calmer one I can tell, told me, "some old pieces of parchment."

My throat instantly dried. Oh no. Oh God no. I could feel my skin grow pale. Please God no. not the pages. Not the pages from the Necronomicon that Annie recovered. Not the pages I didn't get to burn!

Which, apparently burning that damned book wasn't as great an idea as I thought it was at the time. I really wanted to send those suckers out in a ball of smoke. And sure it worked, _on their __**bodies**__._ Didn't do shit to stop those evil things inside them, inside Scottie…and Cheryl… destroying their bodies only set those demons loose again.

"And a tape recorder…"

My head snapped up, "the incantations…" I mumbled thoughtlessly. Oh no, please no…

"We believe Detective Ward had been playing the same recording from…from your past the night he died," that bastard! That damned dirty bastard, if he did he damned us all! "And now these things have been stolen again from a Detroit Police evidence locker."

"God damn it!" I finally shouted, jumping to my feet.

"Ash, what was on that tape?" the first rushed toward me, grabbing my white t-shirt collar.

"The incantations," my body sagged, and he lowered me back to my cot. Both detectives crouched to meet my level.

"What sort of incantations?"

"The ones in the book, the Necronomicon, the same one's I've been warning you all about for years!" I cupped my chin in my hand and traced the L shaped scar there with a finger, "Professor Knowby's translations. He spoke the words aloud and woke the sleeping demons from their graves, and once they're out there's no stopping them," they didn't believe me, I could feel it, yet I couldn't stop, "if Ward played that tape then he's released an unspeakable evil onto all of mankind… and I'm not so sure I want to deal with that again."

You know, I was fine. Really, living in this hell hole with nobody here who couldn't give a rat's ass about me. Yeah it sucked, yeah I hated every single minute of it, but at least it was over. Things were safe, I said the words, and the world was a better place. All for the best, my suffering, right?

"W-what kind of evil?" the suits leaned in closer, "Like… sign of the apocalypse evil?" the first cautiously asked.

"Okay, who the hell are you?" they backed off at once. No cop believed me enough to indulge. None!

"We're detectives," the second fumbled for his badge. I could hear the clicking of high heels scampering down the hall. Apparently somebody had heard us getting a bit loud in here.

"To hell you are, Michael, _Jamie Lee…"_ they gulped simultaneously, "oh what, you didn't think _I'd _notice? Get the hell out of here!"

"Mr. Williams,"

"You can't help me kid!" I doubt he was going to offer, "And until you tell me who you really are I don't see why I should help you. It's screwheads like you guys and Ward and Knowby that shit like this happens in the first place!"

"What kind of shit?!" the first demanded.

"All I got it one piece of advice for you two," I rolled my shoulder, causing it to crack loudly, "load your shotguns and invest in some serious hardware. I know where you could buy some."

"What the hell is going on in here?!"

* * *

do not be alarmed, but i will not be updating regularly over the weekend. ill be back by...tuesday i think. have a good next four days.


	6. The Book of the Dead

So sorry this took so long to update. I've been very distracted lately but I do hope you enjoy!

Chapter 6: The Book of the Dead

"Alright, Bobby," Dean Winchester projected into the speaker phone setting of Sam's cell, "give it to us straight." He'd been in need of some answers since Doc Tilly kicked them out of the hospital for "disturbing her patient".

"You're reporters, aren't you?!" she accused, shoving them out the door.

"Please, M'am!"

"Get the hell out of here before I call the _real_ police!"

Sam tossed his brother a can of soda from across the motel room—interrupting his train of thought— "what'd you find out about the Necronomicon?" the youngest Winchester allowed his soda to foam over his finger tips after cracking it open.

"Not much," the elder man grumbled through the receiver, "but what I did find I know you're not gonna like it."

Dean finished a large gulp of the carbonated drink and belched, "yeah, so what else is new?"

"Okay, here it goes," Bobby sighed, "So this book you're boy was talkin' about is called the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis, translates roughly to the Book of the Dead."

"Sounds like a reject from Oprah's book club," the eldest brother joked again.

"Yeah, rejected for good reason," Bobby's gruff voice chuckled sarcastically, "Supposedly this thing contains ancient Sumerian funerary rites and resurrection passages for—to put it lightly—some seriously evil shit that is given license to possess the living. Heck, even the first pages are said to bear warning about consequences of messin' with this stuff."

"Good to know they put that sort of thing right on the label, huh Sammy?"

Sam shot his brother a "shut-up" glare as he took a swig from his aluminum can.

"_Legend_ has it the book was bound in human flesh and inked in human blood" each brother grimaced while they heard Bobby flipping through pages on the other side of the line, "the only thing I could find about an author is the casually mentioned the Dark Ones," Dean raised his brow, "ahhh, the book went MIA around 1300AD and nobody's seen it since. Or at least if they have they aren't talkin' about it."

"All but one guy," Sam replied.

* * *

TV time. Time for us mentally unstable convicts to interact in an orderly and humane fashion. Really, it's just time for Ash to watch his soaps while drooling bobble heads play nice with the other drooling bobble heads. Honestly, am I the only one here capable of carrying on a dent conversation? Is it because I tongue my meds, is that why I'm so remarkably lucid? Ah well, the novellas are on Telemundo. Though I can't understand a word they're saying, I know Girl with Tight Ass is pissed at Chick with Huge Cans and are preparing to duel via spiral staircase. This should be interesting.

Beside me I heard the faintest whisper of a chuckle. "Could you be quiet, please?" I forcibly asked, "I'm watchin' this."

The giggling only grew louder. The laughter mocked me with every single obnoxious high pitched note it produced. Lord I hate that noise. "Hey, seriously now, C'mon!" I shouted, wheeling my head around.

Seated not far from me on the dingy couch was a gal I less than affectionately refer to as the Quiet One. Been here three years she has, and never once said a peep. Some nurse once spilled the beans that this chick got picked up for some several counts of arson because of teen angst and daddy didn't play nice yada and never even said a word out loud during court. I'm not surprised at her most recent choice of residence. Choice being that of a judge's.

So anyhow there sat this spooky quiet chick in her lovely form fitting straight jacket laughing her ass off. She kept her head bent to hide her face behind those black locks but I could see her shoulders quivering and hear those hellish giggles.

"Ahhh, Nurse…" I called, inching away from the former catatonic, "Nurse!"

"What is it _now, _Mr. Williams?" one of the young ones responded.

"I, uhh, I think something's wrong with the Quiet Girl…"

"What makes you say that?" I could almost hear her eyes roll.

"Well, for starters she's makin' noise."

* * *

"Okkaay, so let's say the book is real," Dean offered, "and this professor our guy kept talking about really did translate these resurrection passages onto a tape recorder... that means…"

"If Ward played that tape then he could have resurrected something," his brother finished.

"Ah, boys," Bobby grumbled, "I don't know if I need to warn you _again_ but this thing contains some seriously nasty stuff. I read up on this Williams' guy's case too; and from the pictures and what he described," Bobby whistled through the phone lines, "sure ain't nothing pretty comin' out of there."

"_Assuming_ our guy isn't a raving lunatic!" Dean yelled.

"You don't believe him?" Sam suggested.

Dean paused and ruffled his hair as he thought, "I don't know, Sammy."

"It all fits," Sam defended the "lunatic", "the book, his friends being possessed by what he said were demons—which we all know to be real—the professor's findings, what happened to Ward, the stuff in his evidence box getting stolen again!"

"Wait, a minute Sam!" Bobby's voice yelled, "Stolen _again?_"

The youngest brother sighed, "Yeah. From an evidence lock-up, the tape recorder and some other stuff."

"Was the book actually with any of this stuff?"

"The cops made no mention of a book," Sam groaned, "but—"

"But," his brother interrupted, "nobody seems to willing to cooperate when it comes to asking a few questions around here."

"Boys," the brothers suddenly had a nagging feeling that their substitute father figure would state the obvious, "whether your Williams guy or this book is one hundred percent if this recording seems to be destroying anything that comes in contact with it," the boys gave a silent nod, "you need to get your hands on this thing before more people show up dead."

* * *

"_Shut up_" I hissed at the frantically giggling brat beside me. Her whole body shivered as the cackles increased. She laughed, and laughed, and laughed in her squeally little mouse voice all through three commercial breaks. Never once did she surface for air. I hate that noise. I _really_ hate that noise.

The nurses ignored my complaint, as to be expected. But how could they have ignored _this_? Those unstoppable giggles were damn near torture. _And_ I missed most of my story.

"I said _shut up_," I growled, low just for her. Her throat released a shrill pitch, echoing off the walls. I felt like my ears would pop.

"_We're gonna get you," _a childlike voice sing-songed into my cranium. I shook my head, hoping to dislodge that all too realistic memory, "_we're gonna get you…"_ that same _thing_ sang again. This time I feared what I already knew; that the sound wasn't just inside my head.

"_Not another ppeeEEeepp…" _my head pivoted, slowly, rickety like a sprinkler toward the source of my migraine. Quiet Girl sat unfazed in her straight jacket. That black curtain of hair hid most of her face save for an eye. One eye.

It giggled again before singing in its unnatural echo, "Time to go to sleeeEEeepp…"

So I did what any man in my position would do. I leaped from my end of the couch and clocked her one right in the face.

"Thanks, Bobby," both boys mumbled as Sam hang up the call. They had agreed to hunt for this recording, as a start, in hopes it would lead them to something bigger. Neither really knew what that something bigger might be yet. The only thing they could think of was the book, the Necronomicon, but neither knew exactly what could come out of it—if anything could at all.

"Damn it, Sammy," Dean groaned, "We don't even know where to begin looking for this crap." He instinctively grabbed for the TV remote. His baby brother shrugged.

"We could go back to Ward's house,"

"That was a bust,"

"Or the police break in or…" Sam halted for a moment.

"Don't even say it, Sammy!"

"Now, more on the tragic story of the horrific murder of a local woman that occurred last night right in this once peaceful neighborhood," the Winchester brothers' eyes were both glued to the television set upon recognizing the neighborhood they once visited only thirty some hours ago.

The reporter continued, "the skeletal remains of Betsy Ellen York were found—in her home— by a neighbor this morning who claims to be the last person to see Mrs. York's still missing daughter, Theresa."

The screen flashed to an interview with a sobbing neighbor, filmed earlier that day. The hysterical woman was still in her pajamas, curlers in her hair and tears stained he rosy cheeks. The woman never ceased shaking during her time on screen.

"I thought I saw little Theresa coming out of the house" the woman explained "all bloody and…and I think she _had_ a knife in her hands. I went inside to call 911, but when I turned around again she was gone. I didn't want to go look for her though, I was too sacred. Something was wrong with her…with her _eyes_, by god I swear it something was just not right with her eyes!" a shaky hand briefly covered a drooling mouth, "there was so much blood when I went inside. It was everywhere… _everywhere!_ How could somebody do that? What kind of monster could _do_ that!"

The program cut back to the reporter standing outside the York's crime scene taped house, "Theresa, as well as her father, Mrs. York's husband Hal York, are still missing."

The brothers blinked silently for several moments of commercials, "Well," Dean finally shrugged, "something definitely came out of that tape."

His brother nodded rapidly beside him.

* * *

"She's having a seizure!" one nursed cried, attempting to stabilize the squirming monster on the floor. Doctors, nurses, orderlies—all of them gathered around the wailing once girl. She thrashed and whipped her head in every direction. She spewed nothing coherent but hysteric inhuman giggles at op volume. The monster kicked one orderly who went for her legs as she rolled all over the dirty tile. One Doc dislodged one of those tiny flashlights from his pocket and shined the light into her malformed face. They didn't know what was wrong with her, but I knew. I had already seen the eyes.

"Don't!" I screamed while the Doc brushed away some of her hair, "Don't touch her, stay away!" I pulled desperately against Ted's lock around my arms. Somebody ordered for him to bring me back to my room, where no doubt a straight jacket anxiously awaited my return.

"No!" I struggled, "She's a demon, get away from her!" I yelled and was ignored. I gave up and Teddy dragged me away. How could this happen? Didn't I stop this? I _should_ have stopped this! This. Shouldn't. Be. Happening. And these people…all these people in the hospital, in the world. They were all gonna die. But before destroying the world of course the demons had to make a little pit stop here to torture me first. You bastards. Will you never _die?_

"For God's sake…" I mumbled in defeat, "how _do_ you stop it?"

* * *

Neither brother needed to explain the urgency now associated with this case. They had watched an eye witness's hysterical tale and seen the graphic images the channel seven news team had to be chased out of a crime scene for. Whatever was on this recording could do damage, serious damage. It was also, more likely than not, connected with the Necronomicon book. Neither Winchester need mention of the immense damage someone—some_thing_—hell bent on destroying the world could do with it.

"So how do we stop it?" Dean mused aloud.

His brother didn't know. He knew neither of them had a clue as to what it was they were even dealing with. Where do they begin, "Well," Sam tentatively began, "we could go back to Ash."

"What?"

"He fought whatever it is this tape brought to life before and apparently won," his brother raised a brow at him, "at least...temporarily," Dean snorted. Sam's voice held a hint of last resort when he spoke next, "But I figure if anybody knows how to get rid of _whatever_ this is, it's gonna be the only guy who's ever faced it and lived to tell the tale."


	7. Good Old Reliable Jake intro

Chapter 7: Good Old Reliable Jake (intro)

Doctor Renee Tilly sighed and brushed her orange bangs away from her eyes. Paper work she possessed no desire to complete littered her desk. The paper only added to the already cluttered space the doctor was given to work in. Pens lay scattered on her desk and floor. Renee's coat was draped sloppily—along with her bag—atop an unused chair. Her shelves held dusty diplomas, family photos, awards and several ancient gifts from her brother the archeologist. Such gifts included fossils, crystal like rocks, and a surprisingly intact once human skull. All the debris gave her tiny office a claustrophobic feel.

Renee allowed her feet to slip from the restraints of her heels as she rubbed her temples and mentally reviewed the tiring events of her day. Ash had snapped and attacked another patient! Here she thought she was actually making progress with that SOB and he goes and gives a nineteen year old near catatonic his best left hook. _What was he thinking? _The doctor thought to herself, _oh that's right, demons._ It had been demons all over again. The girl was possessed, they were coming for him, everyone was in danger…the girl had had a seizure. Dr. Tilly had tried to explain to him during their meeting but he just wouldn't hear any of it. Never had she seen him so crazed (she hadn't been at the hospital long enough to view Ash when he first arrived). His demeanor was…frightening. Renee shuttered at the memory of Ash's suggestion to her that afternoon:

"_Kill the girl, get rid of her, you have to!" he moaned inside his straight jacket. The sedatives had begun to take effect._

"_Ash…" for a moment the doctor found herself speechless. The man before her pinned his gaze to her in a flash. His eyes were ravenous. She realized then that she had never called him by his first name before. _

"_She's already dead…" he sighed heavily, "cut her up, they've got her and there's no coming back. They've got her…" his eyes began to roll and spittle formed in the corners of his mouth, "we're all gonna die," Ash gasped before passing out. _

"Dr. Tilly?" Renee jumped at the sound of the voice outside her office door, "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare ya!" the pudgy man in the dimly lit threshold immediately chuckled after the doctor's reaction to his sudden appearance.

"That's alright Jake," she attempted to keep her voice pleasant and untroubled.

"It's just," the mild mannered security guard shrugged, "it's getting late Doctor." That's right. Jake was in charge of the night watch with its limited staff number. A few nurses, orderlies and guards were all that remained in this place after six. Renee peeked behind her at the clock mounted on her office wall. It read 8: 04.

"Oohhh," she hissed, "You're right Jake, I should be getting home."

"Now, I'm not tryin' to throw you out or anything Dr. Tilly," he assured her as she rose from the seat at her desk.

"No, no," Renee replied, hunting for her shoes beneath the cavern of her desk, "I'll be out of here in five—" no sign of her left shoe, "maybe ten minutes," she sighed with a laugh, "thanks for reminding I have a life outside these walls, Jake."

Jake responded with a grin of his own, "Not a problem, Doctor," he tapped a flashlight against the door frame (no lights on in the halls after six, saves electricity), "I'm just gonna be finishing up this round. Either myself or Darryl we be at the desk to let you out when you get down there." Another hospital nightshift policy, only way in or out was with the proper ID and a security escort.

"Thanks again,"

Jake nodded, "You can count on me."

"So whadda we do, Sammy, kidnap the guy?!" Dean jokingly suggested to his baby brother, "They're won't exactly be thrilled to let us back into that place." The Winchesters left Sunny Meadows psychiatric hospital on rather unpleasant terms.

Sam sighed. He turned his face away from Dean to watch the passing silhouettes of trees as the Impala sped by them. He had nothing to say, no suggestions on how the brothers could find their way back into Sunny Meadows to chat with Ash. Unless of course, one counted the obvious break in attempt, but in a place full of the criminally insane ready rat you out to the nearest rent-a-cop that didn't really seem like the best option.

"I don't know…" the youngest brother finally replied, crumpling his burger wrapper into a ball and tossing it into the backseat.

"Well you're the one who suggested we go back and talk to this guy some more in the first place," Dean turned to his brother, tearing his eyes from the road before him, "Gotta figure out something!"

"Well I just don't know right now, Dean!" Sam shouted, throwing his hands up in frustration. In an instant his face froze, "Dean!" he shouted again, much to his brother's confusion, "Dean look out!" Sam pointed a shaky figure at the windshield.

The eldest brother's focus snapped back onto the road just in time to feel the impact of the object that collided with the car's bumper. "Jesus!" Dean hissed, slamming his foot onto the break pedal too late. The object rolled over the hood and smashed against the windshield with a sickening crunch. Liquid and matter dispersed from the organism and splattered over the car in a twisted trail of crimson. Both brothers stared, unspeaking, at the gooey windshield once the Impala rolled to a halt. It was pointless for either to mention that the mass their car had demolished had a very human shape to it.

Sam was the first to exit the black vehicle. Without a word to his brother he sprinted back to the Impala's victim now twitching in a wretched sprawl of twisted and broken limb. He nearly gagged at the sight of the creature, twitching its last muscle spasm as he approached. A leg was bent completely backward, bone protruding from a busted knee cap. The other was torn from its socket and lay motionless, crushed, and oozing fluid several feet from the rest of the shattered body. The torso contained dozens of gashes, one huge and gaping in the center of its chest. The place where torso meets hip was crooked from the impact. One arm was twisted three hundred and sixty degrees, barely clinging to its dislocated shoulder. The second arm was bent and broken in several awkward positions. Everything—well what was left of anything clothing the body was stained red. The face was so gnarled it hardly even looked human anymore.

"Dean…Dean!" Sam gasped for his brother who still clutched tightly to the wheel of his car, "Dean!" Sam cried a third time. At the sound of his brother's panic stricken voice Dean gulped a deep breath and shot from his seat toward the scene of the crime.

"Dean you hit a person…" Sam rasped, grabbing his brother's arm once he got close.

"Shit…" Dean whispered, drinking in the grotesque sight before him, "I-I couldn't have done _all _this…" he surveyed the body's severe amount of damage, his voice was breathless "no way, Sammy l-look at this…" he gulped again, "maybe he…he was probably already dead…"

"No way, he was standing up right and you saw it,"

"Shit!" Dean rubbed a thumb to his temple, "you saying I just killed an innocent person with my car?!" he didn't wait for the reply, "Shit!" he turned away from the body to kick a stone across the pavement. His brother followed, reaching for his arm.

"Dean—"

"_You will diiieeee…"_ a sickly voice groaned behind the pair. The brothers pivoted to face the noise at once, bracing themselves for an unwelcomed stranger. What they saw was a long since dead body that showed a new sign of—for lack of a better term—life, "_you shall diiiieeee." _It hissed, blood and a strange milky fluid spurted from its blistered lips as it chocked. Limbs had also begun to resume their lifeless, taskless spasms.

"What the fuck…" the eldest Winchester muttered, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"_You shall never retrieve the Necronomicon!" _the demon growled. The boys each took a half step backwards at the mention of the book, "_You shall die and the Necronomicon shall be ours!" _The creature howled its unearthly laugh as it spat more blood into the night.

The boys retreated back to the Impala, speaking in hushed voices.

"How in the Hell did it…" Dean began.

"I don't know," Sam finished. The trunk was popped.

"Jesus Christ, Sammy, is that what—" Dean was unsure how to finish his sentence as he loaded his shotgun. No salt this time. What the heck did make that thing? The book the tape?

"Sure doesn't look like any other demon we've seen," Sam likewise loaded a pistol, "did you see its eyes?" he asked in a shaky voice. He received no immediate reply from his brother, "Dean?"

"What? Uh, yeah…" he agreed. But Dean had remembered seeing a demon with matching milky white eyes before. Only one and she was one demon Dean couldn't wait to unleash some payback upon.

Sam grabbed a trusty bottle of holy water and prepared to recite an exorcism passage he now knew by heart , "Ready?' he prompted.

His brother nodded, "yeah."

"_You shall never retrieve the Necronomicon!"_ the beast howled, "_You will all diiieeee, and we shall swallow your souls!"_

"Yeah, that's nice," Dean grumbled, he took the bottle of water from his brother's hand and released a stream into the demon's mouth. It shrieked, smoke emerged from its crying throat along with blood and the strange white substance, "Tell us where it is."

"_Ahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaa!"_ the monster cackled at Dean's command, withering still from its burned esophagus, "_Never will you find it! We shall rise again, and you will all die! We shall conquer this land, and take over each and every soul of the living!" _

"I'm gonna ask you one last time," Dean barked, "Where is the book?!" another blast of holy water showered the creature's decaying flesh.

The demon screamed the most inhuman and unholy sound the brothers had ever heard. The wretched thing then continued to speak as it wailed in pain in its other worldly octaves, "_The Necronomicon shall be ouuuuurrrrrrssss. You will diiiiieeeee. You will all suuufffeeerrrr!"_

"I've had just about enough of this, Sammy."

With a nod the youngest brother began to coldly recite the exorcism passage. The beast cried out once more. This time it's painful shrieks were accompanied by bubbling flesh, oozing pus and the odor of rotting skin as it burned, smoke rising from the living corpse.

"_I'll swallow your sooouuuullll!" _it moaned, the brothers ignored its remarks,_ "you will all diiieeee!" _it spat blood, preparing weakly for its last words_, "and your Hero shall be ours!" _it snarled,_ "Your Hero shall join us or diiiiieeeee…"_the demon squawked.

"What was that last part?!" Dean yelled too late. The creature was silenced, nothing left of it but pieces of rotting carcass.

"I, um," Sam swallowed, "I think we should get over to that hospital."

"Yeah."


	8. It Won't Let Us Leave

Chapter 8: It Won't Let Us Leave

_"I know now that my wife has become host to a Candarian demon. I fear that the only way to stop those possessed by the spirits of the book is through the act of... bodily dismemberment..."_

What woke me from my narcotic induced semi-coma was the all too familiar sound of breaking glass…I think. My hazy mind was filled by the distant noise of all those shattering pieces tumbling from their window panes. But…I thought I heard something else…just before that…damn these drugs. I don't think it was on my floor, it all sounded so far away, but then again, my mind wasn't exactly crystal clear. The numbness was wearing off, but everything still felt heavy from my eyelids down to my toes. The first sensation that really hit was the painful kink in my back from the tip-top staff letting me "sleep" wherever it was I fell. Which, by the way, felt like the floor of an industrial freezer.

I lifted an eyelid slightly, still groggy. After that the second one raises, partial mobility, that's a good sign. Next comes the attempted lift of an arm—halted! I lifted my spinning and aching head to get a better peek at my condition. A straightjacket. Well aren't those fun.

"AAHHHHHHH!" through the cloudy haze inside my brain I could still decipher a faint scream emanating from somewhere down the hall. At least I assumed that's its origin. The damn drugs make everything so damn difficult!

Something else shattered in the distance…or hell, right in the next cell over for all I can tell. With a giant heave I tried flinging the bulk of body upward to sit up. This tactic fails on my first attempt, and instead a flop back against cold linoleum. That's gonna leave a mark. Well if at first you don't succeed…

_Try it again, Ash_, I say to myself (whether out loud or in my head I can't tell) and heave my drug pumped body up again with a grunt.

…maybe failing's more your thing.

Dr. Tilly walked briskly from the elevator to the hospital's main lobby, completely unaware of the impending chaos waiting to be unleashed within the old building's walls. She heard no strange noises happening up on the fifth floor as she shrugged into her coat. She heard nothing, in fact, save the swift clicking of her no longer missing high heels as she traveled the barely lit hallway.

For a moment she paused—breath caught in her throat—as the doctor heard something crash from within the open space of the lobby. That was the moment her eyes and her busy mind finally connected to see the looming darkness the hallway emptied into. Normally the room was well lit, even sunny. Not now.

"H-hello?" Renee called softly. She took a step forward, gingerly, and her call was replied by the sound of shuffling against wet tile. Then a cough, soggy and agonizing, "Jake!" Renee's voice grew in volume and fear. Her feet nearly slipped out of her heels as she scampered into the darkened lobby. The Doctor's vision was immediately removed upon entering the eerie room.

"Jake!" she near whispered, suddenly afraid of the possibly of intruder in her hospital, "Darryl?" she called for the second guard on duty that night as well. Her calls were followed by a crumpling noise, scratching against the ground from somewhere in the dark. As her eyes adjust Dr. Tilly's gaze fell upon an old newspaper page, then another, and another. They skated gracefully, though slightly crumpled, across the smooth ice like tile. _But, how? _The doctor thought.

He answer came in the form of a breeze, cool and crisp, gliding against her cheek. She shivered as it tickled over her skin and floated her bangs out of place. "Hello?" she asked, stupidly, into the darkness. Dr. Tilly willed her body forward, now trembling with the slightest sensation of fear. She blindly approached the source of the chill upon her cheek and outstretched a palm.

"Is there anybody in here? Jake? Darryl?"

CRUNCH

Renee jerked her foot back the moment her toe crunched against glass. Bits surrounded her, all covered by the darkness, fallen from the shattered front window. "Oh god…" she whispered, "Darryl? Jake?" she kept her voice low as she backed carefully out of the graveyard of glass shards, "is there anybody in here, hello?"

Renee bit her lip. _That_ was a stupid question. Of course _someone_ was in here, or at least had been, the window didn't shatter by itself, and something had to break it.

Dr. Tilly's back bumped against something solid, startling her. She turned in a flash to find she had backed into the Plexiglas partitioned security booth. She released a long, noisy breath.

"Help me!" the doctor screamed, and leapt right out of one of her heels when Jake's heavy form pressed itself firmly against the glass separating them. He beat his bloody hands against the clear wall, "p-please doctor!" he gargled, red slipping from the corners of his mouth. His frame gradually slid downward against the barrier, his lower half unable to support the chubby security guard. A trail of blood remained in his wake.

"Jake!" the doctor gasped. She threw her palm against the Plexiglas and hurriedly felt her way through the darkness her eyes had not yet full adjusted to. A broken piece of barrier tugged briefly at the skin on her palm, drawing blood. Renee hissed as she felt her way around the hole defiling the safety of the cubicle. Within in seconds she reached the closed door to the minimum security office.

"Jake, I'm here!" she shouted as she flung open the door. Her foot was caught in something liquid and sticky. Her hand slithered frantically against the wall inside desperately searching for the light switch. She didn't dare move any further into the office without somehow seeing what was making the awful gurgling, scratching and hissing noises against the cold floor.

At last her fingers glided over the switch to illuminate the small room, and again the doctor shrieked. Renee stood in a pool of blood that completely covered the white floor tiles. Lying face down in the disgusting liquid was Darryl, his uniform stained, his finger nails long and bloody, his body twitching, and the back of his skull blown to pieces. Bits of bone and brain matter added to the mess. The doctor felt her stomach lurch mid scream, right before a set of bloody hands grabbed tight to her ankles. Renee's breath caught in her throat. She kicked and wiggled her legs, whimpering for the hands to release her.

"Doctor!" a hoarse voice cried, "Doctor!"

Dr. Tilly ceased her thrashing upon realizing the hands that captured her were Jake's. She crouched down beside him, averting her gaze from the body in the middle of the floor. "Jake, what happened!?" she cried, she hadn't meant for her voice to sound so hysterical. Jake's fierce grip released itself from Renee's ankles and moved up to her forearms. He pulled on the doctor as she looped her arms under his for support.

"D-Darryl, he…he…" the guard was unable to finish his story and broke into a fit of bloody coughing to stain the lady's white blouse. She paid no attention to her ruined attire.

"Jake, we have to call 911," she instructed, though she knew he was incapable of handling a phone is his condition. She tried with all her might to lift the heavy man off the floor though she clearly lacked the strength to do so. Her eyes darted over the guard's injured body. His left leg was hurt the most; completely red with cuts and scratch marks, down to the ivory bone in some places. Renee grimaced at the sight of his torn flesh and muscle, one of the reasons she choose the field of psychiatric care was so that she wouldn't have to deal with all this blood.

"What happened here?" she gasped, feeling the tears building in her throat, "who did this, Jake?"

"D-d-d-" the body on the floor suddenly gave an energetic jerk, freezing both guard and doctor. One of Jake's hands freed Dr. Tilly's arm and shot for a black object resting in the blood pool. Renee could not steady the two of them after his spontaneous movement and both hospital employees toppled to the hard ground. Jake didn't seem to notice, "t-take this," he gasped, practically shoving pistol under the woman's nose. She squirmed and raised her thin body out of the sticky puddle without taking the firearm. "Take it!" Jake shouted, tossing the weapon at her. Renee shrieked, avoiding the gun. Her companion groaned in pain and frustration as she did so.

"_I'll swallow your soul…."_ Something hissed from inside the same security cubicle. Renee could feel her heart pounding within her chest. Not wanting to know where the noise came from her trembling bloody fingers reached out Jake once more, "_I'll swallow your soul…"_ the same sound hissed again, louder this time. Dr. Tilly's attention was unwillingly drawn to the now eerily steady dead security guard lying not far from her.

A hand shot up, followed by a second. Renee's voice box blurted a short yet terrified scream as she watched the body begin to reanimate. The dead hands groped blindly for something solid to sink their nails into. Finding a filing cabinet the moving corpse clutched on and heaved its upper half out of the puddle. In a flash the head sprang to life as well, fixing its milky white demonic eyes upon the still living souls. A black and crimson bullet hole disrupted the smooth skin of Darryl's forehead. Streaks of blood rolled down the dead man's face.

"_I'll swallow your soul!_" it spoke frantically, "_I'll swallow your soul! I'll swallow your soul! I'll swallow your soul! I'll swallow your soul! I'll swallow your soul! I'll swallow your soul! I'll swallow your soul! I'll swallow your soul!"_

The body lurched for her and Renee wailed, stomping her remaining shoe heel into the face of her once co-worker. The shoe remained stuck in rapidly decaying flesh. The woman cried and yelled and whimpered again, attempting to dislodge her foot before the thing could sink its claws into her Achilles.

A firm hand yanked on Renee's arm. The force of the grip dragged her across tile whilst she continued to scream, and ultimately pulled her foot free of its Stiletto prison. Someone stepped in front of her—blocking the doctor's view—and fired into the cubicle. She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears against the loud firework like pops in reflex.

"Get up!" someone told her once the firing stopped; "get up!" the hand pulled once more, this time yanking Renee onto her feet. Standing upright Renee finally got a look at her rescuer: a slightly shaggy haired young man. It took her several seconds to place the face, but it did come to her.

"You…" she said breathlessly, recognizing Detective Curtis from that morning. The phony Detective's face dropped as she recognized him, his focus elsewhere.

"Shit!" he shouted, nearly tossing Dr. Tilly to the ground. He threw her aside—though Renee still managed to securely latch onto the young man's arm. Renee had not been aware that he had pulled her over to the previously broken window. There another visitor was attempting to sneak inside after hours. Curtis fired his own gun and Renee tucked herself into his arm to escape the noise of the shotgun blast.

"Dean, we've got a problem!" he yelled. Dr. Tilly gradually lifted her face from Curtis's arm to have her eyes locked with the pupiless white orbs of the monster that managed to crawl through the broken window. Though impossible for the creature to stand due to its twisted and missing limbs the thing held its ground between the living and their only chance of escape, blocking the path to the front windows and entrance.

"_Joooiiiinnn uusssss…" _it cooed evilly, "_Joiiiinnnn uusssss…"_ fresh buckshot holes decorated its practically faceless head and shoulders.

"Jesus H. Christ, Sammy!" the second man, Myers, trotted to his partner's side, "I thought we got rid of this thing already!?" he half shouted half gasped, completely taken aback by the appearance of the second zombie like creature. The thing began to inch its way further into the building, dragging itself by one elbow. The three responded by taking one unified giant step in the other direction, keeping three pairs of eyes straight ahead.

"So did I," Curtis gulped, "how could that exorcism not have worked?"

"_Join us, Sammy!"_ the decomposing corpse teased, "_or I shall swallow your souuuuulllll!"_ it finished with a twisted cackle.

"Yeah we've heard it all before!" Myers retorted. He patted his partner on the shoulder, "get out the knife, Sammy."

Curtis grew still, "I…thought…_you_ had it…" he answered slowly.

"_I'll swallow your soul! I'll swallow your soul! I'll swallow your soul! I'll swallow your soul!"_ Darryl's bullet infested body leaped through the tear in the Plexiglas, shredding parts of its flesh and clothing as it did so.

The partners exchanged, perhaps, _too_ long of a stare as the demons marched forward.

"Don't even _tell_ me we left it in the car!" Barked Myers.

"_I'll swallow your soul! I'll swallow your soul! I'll swallow your soul! I'll swallow your soul! I'll swallow your soul! I'll swallow your soul! I'll swallow your soul!" _

"J_jjjjoooiiinnnnn uusssssss, Doctoooorrrrrr!"_

Renee had had enough, "Stop arguing and _do_ something!" she roared, throwing an exasperated punch into Curtis's left arm. He barely even flinched.

"Right…" he replied instead. He stood quietly for just a moment, trying his best to picture the layout of the hospital he received from the boys' brief tour in his mind's eye, "Elevator!" he said, then turned to Renee, "It's down this way right?" she nodded, "then run!" He hooked the doctor by the arm and sprinted down the black hall.

"Jake!" Dr. Tilly screamed, "Don't leave him!" she tried her best to pull free of the man's grasp but he held tight to her.

"Dean!" he shouted, firing the second round of his shotgun into the belly of the oncoming undead security guard. The body was thrust backward, blood spewed in every direction.

"I got it!" his partner called in return, lunging for the security office door. Curtis continued to sprint— his had locked on Renee's forearm—for the elevator. Once in reach the woman shot her hand outward and tapped the up button before her running mate had the chance. Luckily, the metal doors sprang open with their soft ding at once.

Renee flung herself onto the back wall, positioning her back to the corner and holding to the cool metal rails to steady her shaky form. Curtis waited in the threshold, keeping the metallic doors from sliding closed. He shouted and motioned for his partner to hurry—who Dr. Tilly could spy jogging down the hall with a limping Jake supported be his shoulders. Renee could not, however, decipher any specific sounds. Adrenaline pumped through her body, all her limbs trembled, and the only sound she could hear was the horrified throbbing of her pulse in her ears. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm herself. The moment she exhaled all the previously muted sounds flooded her earlobes.

"Hey, Lady!" one of the 'detectives' yelled at her. Renee's eyes lids snapped open. Jake and Myers were already in the metal box, the doors sliding shut. The former moaned where he lay in the opposite corner and the latter hovered inches away from the woman's forehead, his brow knitted. Renee stared at him in utter bewilderment, "I asked what floor is Williams on?"

"W-ha—" she stammered, "A-ash Williams?" she needn't wait for Myers reply, the doctor already Ash was exactly who he meant, "f-five. Floor five!"

Curtis pressed the button and their metal box jolted upward.

"What…what the hell is going on here?" Dr. Tilly panted, her voice returning to her, "What was that?!"

"We don't know," Curtis gently replied. Renee blinked.

"_You don't know_!" every man winced, "you storm in here, guns blazing and you don't even know!"

Curtis turned to face the astonished woman, "we're doing the best we can to figure everything out right now Dr. Tilly," he answered, keeping the calm in his voice, however, when he began again his tone held a certain edge, "but right now, no, we don't exactly know what that was. We…have an idea."

"What idea?" the lady demanded but received no reply, "What idea!"

Silence.

"Who_ are_ you?" Renee sincerely asked, "You're not detectives."

Curtis sighed, "My name is Sam Winchester and this is my brother, Dean."

_Dean_ raised his hand in a wave and continued, "We, uh, hunt things. Things like what you just saw."

"Aha!" Renee couldn't help it, the skeptical laugh simply floated out of her gut, "for a living?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"How'd you get in?"

"Same way," he paused to find the word that wasn't there, "whatever that was got in."

"D-d-darryl…" the chattering trio had nearly forgotten about their fourth passenger.

"Jake!" Renee gasped and dropped to his side, taking his bloody hand in hers.

"It just…" his was quivered, "it j-just…got…Darryl. Th-the window…broke through the window," his tale was intermissioned for the need to consume air, "just a gust o' wind…b-blew through the g-glass an' it…it just h-hit Darryl an' he…he…"

"Shhh, it's alright Jake," Renee wished to comfort the wounded man.

"I shot 'im."

"But that didn't stop him," Dean finished.

The elevator dinged, announcing their arrival. Sam crouched down at Jake and Renee's level, "Dr. Tilly I'm gonna need you to show us where Ash's room is up here."

"What do you want with him?" Renee wasn't sure why her tone came off so defensive. It's not like she wanted to protect that murderer from these boys, rather the other way around.

"Please?"

The doctor sighed in defeat. Upon her request the brothers hoisted Jake out of the elevator and laid him out on a wooden bench protruding from the clean white wall. Renee reassured the loyal man that they'd return in a minute, and the group set off down another dimly lit hallway.

"I don't have the keys on me," Dr. Tilly remarked as she lead them.

"I'm sure it won't be a prob—" Dean blinked, "lem."

Having ventured deeper down the hall the trio began to notice signs of a disturbance on this floor as well. Doors were busted open, walls covered in scratch marks, blood spattered at odd angles. A breeze met the group head on, emanating from the direction of the common room at the end of the hall. The outside air leaking in through the broken windows was cold and caused (among other things) Renee to shutter.

"Oh God!" Renee groaned upon reaching Ash Williams' cell and finding it already opened. The doctor stomped in, her expectations proven right finding the room void of any human being. What she did find was a mattress thrown from its cot, said cot standing crooked due to a missing limb and an empty straightjacket. "How the fuck did he—" the frustrated woman did not finish her sentence with words but instead an angry groan. She picked up the white jacket and flung it across the room in rage.

"What's this?" Sam asked from behind her. She turned; in his hands was a squiggled piece of metal. One end of the scrap was filed just thin enough to slip in and pick the cell lock. Renee snatched the piece from Sam's hand and stormed for the mattress less cot.

"Damn it," she muttered. The metal piece was a perfect match to a stretched out spring pulled from the cot.

"Damn it!" Renee snapped again, marching briskly back for the elevator. How long had that bastard been planning his escape? Did those _things_ downstairs have anything to do with it? Why were the Winchester brothers hunting for a man who was already a prisoner? Did they think he was behind all of this? She wouldn't doubt it.

"Heyyyy!" Dean called for her, "wait up a second! Where do you think this guy's gone?"

"Who the hell knows?!"

"Well," Dean feigned being egotistically wounded, "_I_ would _like_ to know."

"And _I_, Dean, would like to get out of here and get Jake to a hospital!"

"What this place not good enough?" the eldest brother quipped, expecting another testy reply. One never came, "Renee?"

"Where's Jake?" panic gripped the good doctor's voice.

"Aw shit," Dean cursed under his breath. The bench they had left him on was empty.

"He couldn't have gotten very far on that leg," the younger brother offered, "we'll find him." he said more to comfort Renee than anything else.

His words did nothing to sooth the woman's troubled mind. She paced the hall, calling for the missing man as Dean and Sam did the same, peaking into any open rooms along the way. Though the brothers expanded their search beyond the immediate area Renee could not tear her eyes from the thick trail of blood that spanned from the elevator to the bench_. Jake had lost so much blood_, she thought, _he couldn't even get up on his own before._ _Is that blood trail leading from the elevator to the bench or…the bench to the elevator?_

Renee took a few brisk steps forward to press her thumb against the open door button, "No sign of him down this way!" Sam called as she did, heading back in her direction, "no sign of any others, save for whatever patients are still locked up. Shouldn't this place have a night staff?"

"It does,"

DING

"Renee!" Sam shouted, lunging for the woman. At first Renee was confused by this action, but the moment an icy hand curled around her ankle—again— she knew. Sam yelled for his brother, who was racing down the hall as he did so. Yet they were still so far away and Renee was already being dragged on her belly back into the elevator, screaming all the way. She whipped her head around to view her attacker: Jake. Good old Jake had become one of…_them_. His eyes were bone white, his lips curled and snarled in incoherent inhuman noises as he stood—leaned over to pull the doctor—on his bad leg. Bone now protruded from his wound, and the undoubted pain had no effect on his possessed body.

"Help me!" she screamed.

"Renee!" she snapped her focus back to Sam. He grasped both of her sweaty hands in his own to keep Renee from being pulled away.

"_Ahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"_ The monster behind her cackled. Out of her view range the doctor more sounds of breaking glass. Dean rushed back into her view, a fire axe gripped in his hands, he charged for Renee and the pudgy former security guard.

"Get the hell off of her!" he shouted. He drove the blade of the axe into the creature's wrist. Blood squirted from the wound and Jake wailed. The eldest Winchester kept at this bloody routine. Meanwhile his sibling pulled Renee back to safety. Once both hands were completely severed Dean delivered a swift kick to the demon's nose, forcing it backward into the elevator. Renee shrieked, twitching her legs to throw the still clutching hands from her ankles. Sam grabbed them and harshly ripped the dead fingers from the woman's skin, chucking them down the dark hall. His bother made sure to press a button, any button, inside the metal box before the thing in its floor could recoup. The plan succeeded. The doors slide shut just as the demon began to screech, leaving all the living safe on the fifth floor.

"S'not gonna let you leave," a solemn voice remarked from the darkness. The panting trio all swirled to meet the voice. There, just down the hall, cast in shadows a tall man leaned casually against a pale wall. His body was swallowed by the darkness, but from the window just above him the moon set his scared and handsome face aglow. His arms hung loosely at his side. In his left hand he carried the broken cot leg, sharpened for protection. His right arm hand no hand at all.

"How long you been standing there?!" Dean spat.

"Long enough," Ash shrugged.

Renee shivered as his deep chocolate eyes weighed down upon her. He had been there the whole time and he didn't lift a finger to help. "We have to get out of here," Renee suddenly blurted. The doctor wrapped her arms around herself and began to rock back and forth from her stop on the frigid floor. Te fear was evident in her voice. Except this time, she wasn't thinking about the undead waiting to collect her soul as she spoke. She in no way wanted to be anywhere near the brooding man before her; especially if _he_ was armed and she was not.

"Not gonna happen," he said in a smooth, low voice, his stare aimed directly at the doctor.

"How the hell do you know that?!" Dean demanded. For a moment Ash's gaze seemed lost. His mind was miles away from Sunny Meadows but rather deep in the woods of Tennessee instead.

"Because," he finally said with an almost lifeless tone, "it won't let us leave."


	9. I'm Not a Killer

Chapter 9: I'm Not a Killer

"How long you been standing there?!" one of those phony detectives from before snapped at me, practically spitting right in my face. Honestly, how rude.

"Long enough," I shrugged. I followed the screams.

I fixed my eyes on Doc Tilly, man did she look a mess. Her snappy professional attire was completely drenched in what I'd bet money on was somebody else's blood. Her legs were covered in scratches, and those cuts can sting. The Doc's normally well maintained hair due was a wreck. Orange wisps fell from her bun to frame her face, hiding one of her icy blues behind them. Her body quivered after she noticed me surveying her, and not in a good way.

"We have to get out here," she panted, hugging herself, voice full or tears. Her eyes never left mine when she spoke.

"Not gonna happen," I reminded those screwheads. I tried to keep my voice down not to startle anybody but apparently it had the opposite effect.

"How the hell do you know that?!" that same rowdy kid jumped at me. Then, for a moment, I wasn't in Sunny Meadows Hell Hole in the Wall for the Criminally Insane. I was back in the woods, in my old car, the Delta. My sister Cheryl sat opposite me; even in the darkness surrounding us I could see the smoke of her frightened breaths. Her crying eyes pleaded with me to believe her, to take her out of this place. God…I'd almost forgotten how awful she looked. Cheryl's hair was wild with twigs and leaves caught in the tangles. Her clothing was torn, her feet bare and muddy, cheeks dirty and tear stained.

She spoke, _"it's not gonna let us leave, Ashley!" _

I had to shake myself free of the memory before things got real ugly, "because," I told them, sounding despondent, "it won't let us leave."

"What do you mean it won't let us?" The calmer of the two asked me, probably just in time too. If the other had opened his mouth again I was sure it was going to be to bite my head off.

"That's what it does," I tried to explain, "the…" I racked my brain for the right word, "force."

"Force?" he questioned in disbelief. Yeah, I bet if I was hearing it for the first time I wouldn't believe it either.

"As in 'May it be with you` type of force?" his partner snorted.

"Listen I don't know exactly what it is!"

"Then what do you know?" by this time the calmer partner had a hung a protective arm over the shivering psychiatrist.

"Just that it's always out there, and once some sucker," generally me, "lets loose those incantations there ain't no easy way to stop it," by the grumpy expressions on all their faces I knew this explanation alone wasn't good enough, "those incantations give the…Evil _things_ in that Evil _force_ license to possess the living, and then, well, all hell breaks loose. _Nobody_ is safe." I warned them, hoping I wouldn't have to do it again.

"What _are_ they?!" my doctor cried hoarsely.

I inhaled slowly. Time to shatter her perfect harmless little world forever; "demons," I said.

"If they're demons then why the hell didn't our exorcism work?" jumpy snapped. Well, that certainly wasn't the reaction I was expecting.

"Uhh…"

"This can't be happening," Doc sniffled, "none of this can be real. This can't be happening!" now that's more what I expected: denial. She wiped the mascara smudged under her eyes away and allowed one of those strange guys to help her onto shaky legs, "I don't believe this…" she mumbled.

"Well?"

"Huh?" was my smooth reply.

"One of those things downstairs followed me and my brother here," oh so they're brothers, "_after_ we thought we had exorcised that thing back to Hell!"

Damn. They already knew. They knew everything that had happened was of a supernatural origin (maybe even more than I do by the sound of it); Ward's untimely death, the tape recorder, twice stolen `evidence` and those stupid questions about the Evil. They were just trying to play dumb before. For the first time I took notice of the artillery these guys carried. They've done this before.

"Hey, you wanna know something funny," I pretended to laugh, "I _still_ don't know who you creeps are." I scowled.

The one with his arm around the good doctor abandoned his post at her side for me and his brother, "our names are Sam and Dean," He said in a sort of rehearsed manner, "and—"

"We're hunters," his brother finished.

"You're what?"

"Hunters," Sam continued, "we travel, hunting things like what's downstairs, and…saving people."

"And you're here because you wanted to know about the Necronomicon," I filled in the blanks.

"Yeah. We wanted to find and destroy it before—"

"Before Hell on Earth could be unleashed?" I interrupted again. Sam opened his mouth to continue speaking but I wasn't quite finished yet, "and you figured since I seem to be the last guy to ever come in contact with the book—or so you assumed given my current residence and bloody tale—that I'd know exactly where to find it, and how to not only destroy it but those nasty little demons too, and that I'd be more than willing to assist."

"Yeah," he answered, his tone not pleasant due to my conclusions. Neither looked at all happy with my attitude. Oh well, that's their problem.

"Sorry to burst your bubble boys but you're not gonna find the Necronomicon anywhere," I legitimately chuckled.

"Why not?" Dean questioned, his anger rising.

I smirked, "I burned it. Twenty seven years ago, in an old cabin in backwoods Tennessee."

Their jaws fell. Dean's eyes blazed with fury, "then how the fu—"

"The tape recorder,"

"How do we stop it," Sam asked me, his voice grave.

"For good?" he nodded, I sighed, "I don't know. Nothing I've ever tried worked for very long. The only way to keep those demons from rippin' you to pieces is to rip them first," an eyebrow raised. I' I had to spell it out more clearly, "the only way to stop them is through the act of bodily…" wait a second, "dismemberment…" the brothers tossed more quizzical glances at the sound of my distracted voice, "it's here!" I didn't wait for the obvious question to be asked before answering it, "the tape! I heard it, Professor Knowby's voice on that tape while I was _out_. It's here in this building I swear it," their stares were still skeptic. Don't blame them for not willingly taken the word of supposed madman, "it's what's springin' them up here, the demons, the tape is bringing them back to this place."

"Why?" Sam wasn't sarcastic in his curiosity, as I anybody would surely have been. I paused for a long moment. Sure I could think of one very specific reason why _this_ place. _I'm _here aren't I? The Evil and I have never had a very civil relationship. It came back when Ward played the tape, then stole the tape back from the police…and with the tape were the missing pages; including a page depicting the image a great 'hero' defeating this same Evil seven hundred years ago. Yeah, somebody's pissed.

"I don't want to stay here," Dr. Tilly whined. Her attention drifted from me to the boys to the smear of blood spread thick across the linoleum and back again. Her mind was clearly cloudy—if that makes any sense—trying its best to comprehend the close to utterly hopeless situation we were in.

Sam sighed, "We have to get her out of here," he mumbled to his brother, possibly interpreting my lack of reply for lack of answer to his previous question, "she's falling apart," he said softly to keep the fragile lady from hearing.

"No," I tried to warn them again. Weren't those two listening? There is no way out.

"We've got to try," Sam's eyes shot daggers at me. I guess I was misinterpreted again.

"He's right," Dean backed his brother up, sighing, "we can't stay to fight something we're not prepared for," he grimaced, reluctant to retreat, "not with all these people in the way," huh, does he mean the missing staff the patients or both? "We'll regroup, find out how to stop it, lure it away," now he was just pulling stuff out of his ass, "destroy the tape, come up with some plan."

I couldn't believe this. Hello, fellas?! There is no chance for regrouping, for planning, for anything! Don't you get it! "What do you think if you just walk out of the building the damn thing will follow you, spare some lives along the way in a fit of mercy, wait till you've checked Encyclopedia Britannica for `destroying Evil Forces` and are _ready_ for a grudge match?!," their muscles tightened as I shouted. Doc winced a few times too, averting her eyes from the guy wielding a sharpened piece of scrap metal, "because that's what this is, really! A grudge match!" I slammed my makeshift weapon against a pristine wall. Instinctively the brothers Grimm retreated a step, holding up their palms in that universal `whoa, horsey` gesture. Except one had an axe in his hand and a pistol in his belt while the other had a sawed off shotgun and whose know what other tricks up their sleeves combined. My good doctor remained frozen in place.

I inhaled deep, attempting to calm my frustrated nerves, "Hey," I begin again, with a more 'positive' tone, "if you think it's gonna work by all means," I motioned for them to move right on past me, "go ahead and scurry on outta here with your tails between your legs," they grunted. I placed a finger on my chin in that universal `intellectual` pose " or, here's a thought, you could find out why those Evil sons of bitches are coming back and how to stop them before it spreads too far. I'll give you a hint on the first part: me," I exhaled, "like I said. It's a grudge match."

"Ash?' this was Renee's whimpered call to me. I figured since she started referring to by my first name might as well return the favor.

I adjusted my pose as she approached me on shaky legs, her chin down and orange locks curtained her face. Still, I softened the eyes up a bit, relaxed the shoulders and did my best at sounding suave when I replied, "yes?"

SMACK

She slapped me one right on my left cheek. I could feel the heat from her palm leaving a welt seconds after contact. All I could do was blink through the sting as the doctor began to spew her verbal acid in my face, "You did this!" she shouted, poking a bloody finger at my chest, "this is all your fault! You did this!" her boney digit pushed me back a step, "You're behind _all_ of this! You're killing us just liked you killed them!" she sobbed and shrieked, "_All _of them! Jake, Darryl…those _kids!"_

"My _friends?_" I immediately corrected, injecting some venom of my own, "my _sister? _My God damned _girlfriend?!_" that last part came out as a snarl. Sam had to throw his arm out to keep me from lunging at the hysterical woman. Dean likewise took a firm hold of her shoulders, "what on this earth, lady, makes you think I would willingly put myself through the same Hell that virtually took away everything I _ever_ cared about?! I had to watch as some of the people I loved most _died_ and came back to _murder_ me! My own parents died without ever saying a word to me again because of what you people accused me of! I am _not_ a_ killer_!"

"Ash! Ash! Calm down!" Sam yelled, pushing me back against the wall. I wasn't aware that I had been struggling with him.

"You're a fucking mad man!" Tilly spat, literally, shook herself free from Dean's restraint and stomped past Sam holding me back, "I'm leaving and I hope you die here!"

"Yeah, well best of luck surviving the night without any help from me!"

"Enough!" Sam nearly threw me to the ground.

"Doctor! Renee!" the other brother shouted after the woman retreating down the darkened hall with only moonlight guiding her. She didn't turn back as she flipped us all off. "Hey!" Dean shouted again right before catching up, "Hey Doc, chill we need to stick together in here, alright!"

"Don't tell me to _chill_!" she swatted at him.

At that point I felt the cold breeze blow straight through my bones, and it was picking up speed. "Uh oh," I mumbled as it sped past Sam, he too sensing the unholy presence unseen.

"Dean!" the young man yelled for his brother just before the sound of metal crashing against metal pierced the hall.


End file.
